Mind Games (Games Thriller Series) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Chris shot up in bed, his heart pounding, her voice still ringing in his ears.

The dream.

Again.

Profound sadness filled him, pressing down on his chest like an invisible hand reaching in and brutally yanking his heart out.

“Jess.” Her name fell from his lips and he stared at the ceiling, concentrating on breathing in and out, counting each breath until his seized muscles relaxed.

“Damn it,” he said and threw the covers off. He shook his head clear and made his way into the bathroom.

The cold water dripped from his face and he glanced at his reflection. Chris sighed, his eyes moving to his perfect scar-free cheek and he traced a line with his index finger. The line where the scar once broke the skin, from just below his lower eyelashes stretching all the way under his jawbone, jagged and angry.

After five years, he still wasn’t used to the blemish free profile. Every time he looked in the mirror, it reminded him of her. And every time the ache returned, the itch to waltz back in her life crawled under his skin. The dream didn’t help; it just made the itch all that much more insistent.

“I have to see her,” he said to his reflection.

Blue eyes looked back, telling him that wasn’t a good idea.

Irritated, he grabbed his toothbrush and walked into the bedroom polishing his teeth and flipping on the television to catch the morning news. Nothing relevant or noteworthy scrolled across the bottom of the screen, so he retreated to the bathroom and spit in the sink.

The dream grated on his nerves, the satin of her skin under his hands and lips fanned the fire that had been in his belly since the day he first laid eyes on her. And now this, this blatant carrot dangling in front of him all because he still had the healing power simmering in his veins.

Chris walked out on the terrace of his penthouse apartment with his coffee and leaned on the balcony wall, looking down at all the people rushing around like ants, amazed at the activity for such an early hour. The morning skyline a mixture of reds and yellows reflecting off the high rises did nothing to quell his restlessness.

A new thought dawned on him, stopping the coffee cup midway to his mouth.

What if the dream is real?

What if her daughter is dying?

A layer of arctic air brushed his skin, forming bumps along his exposed wrists and he shivered. If it was real, dear God, if it was real, he had to do something to fix it, even if that meant losing his freedom.

Looking beyond the buildings at the water in the distance, Chris made a decision.

Chapter 3

Jessica stood on the deck of their cottage overlooking the choppy ocean, the cool breeze whipping her hair away from her face.

Where is he?

“You had another nightmare?” Tom said, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

She nodded, even though she would not quite categorize it as a nightmare, it was disturbing.

“You’re having them a lot. Is everything ok?”

She turned and kissed him. “Yes. It’s perfect now that you’re back. I hate it when you leave.”

“You can always come with me. I could see if they’d give you a walk on part on the show, you’re certainly hot enough,” he teased, knowing Jessica hated the spotlight. She would much rather be here on the quiet coast of Maine than in Los Angeles.

Jessica laughed. “I’m not one of the pretty plastic people.” She batted her eyes, heading to the door. “Like you,” she said over her shoulder and scooted.

He chased her inside around the living room like two teenagers, laughing as he caught her and tickled her, dragging her to the couch. His tickling quickly drifted into foreplay and he kissed her, peeling
off the bathrobe she wore.

“I missed you.” He pulled away from her lips. “I wish you would come with me. The thought of you here alone, of what could happen...”
he trailed off.

“It can’t happen twice.” She went to kiss him.

He pulled away. “Jess, they never found his body. If he’s out there...”

“
—He hasn’t come collecting. If Ty was alive, he would have already tried,” she lied to appease him, to keep the pretense of their marriage as solid and sure.

If he knew Ty was alive and masquerading as Christopher Aris, his insecurity would barrel back to the forefront and she didn’t want that. He hated Ty with a passion that the years had not erased. There was no forgiving the murder of his wife. No forgiving the fact Ty hurt her in ways Tom deemed unforgivable no matter what the reasoning. If he ever found out she knew Ty was alive, Jessica didn’t know what he would do. And she did not want to find out.

Tom nodded a little and looked down at his hands. “And if he did?”

Jessica reached over and gently cupped his chin, turning his face toward her. “Tom, I am in love with you. Nothing can change that.”

“Then come with me next week.”

“I’ve got the kids next week. April vacation.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I forgot.” He took a deep breath and she straddled his lap, running her finger down his bare chest.

“Now where were we?” She leaned in, kissing him with a fraction of the passion her dream produced, hell bent on forgetting the feel of Ty’s hands, focusing only on Tom. She smiled under the kiss as he stood carrying her into the bedroom to finish what he started.

Chapter 4

The late morning sun glistened on the Piscataqua River as Chris crossed the bridge into Maine. With the top down, the unseasonably warm early April air whipped the edges of his hair and he glanced at his speedometer, keeping his speed in check, resisting the urge to open her up on the nearly empty road ahead.

“What am I going to do when I see you?” he asked the road ahead of him. “What the hell am I going to do?” He didn’t have an answer but his stomach growled, prompting him to take the Kittery exit in search of a late breakfast. His GPS gawked at him, repeating the command to turn around and get back on the highway in order to reach the programmed destination. He flipped off the sound and pulled into a restaurant between the shops lining U.S. Route 1.

The bank of local real estate magazines caught his attention and he grabbed a couple before following the hostess to a seat overlooking an inlet. Flipping through the pages, he stopped, studying an oceanfront estate with good acreage and a security gate enclosure, remote enough to provide the privacy he craved and not far from where Jessica lived. The price wasn’t listed in the magazine and by the look of it; Chris figured it was in the double-digit-million range. He smiled and folded the page, rolling up the magazine and sliding it in his back pocket.

After sc
arfing down breakfast, he punched in the address for the realtor’s office, following the pleasant voice of his GPS right into their parking lot. Everything about York was quaint, even the realtor’s office and he strolled inside.

“I’d like to see this property,” he said to the perky receptionist.

A few moments later, a pretty blonde agent with the nametag “Betty” stepped out into the small lobby area.

“I understand you want to see the Carrington property.” She looked him over and a skeptical crease appeared between her brows.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Chris offered a smile, dripping with sincerity.

She nodded and escorted him to her car, waving him into the passenger seat and promptly took him to the estate. She attempted to engage him in conversation, and he avoided more than the necessary congenialities but that didn’t dissuade Betty from aimlessly rambling about the estate and its history.

The Carringtons apparently owned the entire outlet at the end of Roaring Rock Lane, along with the modest 5,000 square foot English Tudor on a bluff overlooking the ocean. The grounds impeccably maintained with an iron gate surrounding the entire thirteen acres. According to Betty, this was a rare find and it included a lovely in-ground pool.

He stood at the thigh high rock wall that bordered the cliff, scanning the ocean and the marina at the mouth of the York River and inhaled. Sea air, salty and refreshing blanketed the back yard and he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

“I’ll take it. All of it, as is, including the furniture,” he said, spinning around and locking eyes with Betty.

“Um, Mr. Ryan, this is a sizable estate,” she stammered.

He walked to her car and slid in the passenger seat without another word. Betty followed on his heels, rattling on about other properties that may suit him better.

“I have no interest in other properties,” he said, ignoring her chatter and looking out the window until she pulled into the parking lot.

“Mr. Ryan, I don’t think you understand. The Carrington estate is... sizable.”

“How much?” he asked as they walked into her office.

“The listing is for thirteen and a half million, but I need to talk with the owners about the contents,” Betty floundered.

He almost laughed at the pittance. His penthouse cost almost twice that figure, but then again this wasn’t New York City or the Hamptons, this was Maine and that figure was probably considered outrageous here. “Offer them fifteen million for all of it and tell them you will have the money tomorrow,” he said, smiling and taking a seat. “When can I move in?”

Her jaw dropped momentarily but she quickly recovered, handing him the forms. “If you would be so kind as to fill out these forms, I’ll give the sellers a call.”

She returned a little while later. “They accepted the offer and you can move in as soon as the funds are verified and the paperwork is settled. That will take a few days.”

Chris nodded and handed her the completed paperwork. “I assume you have an escrow account, so where should I have the money wired?”

She nodded. “I’ll need to verify the availability of the funds.”

Chris pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card for the firm that managed the majority of his money.

Betty dialed the number on the card and asked for the contact. She explained the situation and handed Chris the phone.

Chris authenticated his identity and gave the directive to verify the funds and wire fifteen million dollars to the realtor’s escrow account for the purchase of a home. He handed the phone back to her and she listened to the banker as he disclosed Chris’s account balance verifying the availability of the funds.

Betty slowly sat down and smiled up at Chris as she fumbled through her desk. She gave the routing and account number for the wire and hung up. With a strained smile, she called the realty firm’s bank to let them know what was coming and to notify her once the wire was confirmed.

He stood to leave.

“Thank you for choosing Stanford realty,” she said and her eyes twinkled with a whole new level of interest. They dropped to his ring-less fingers and her smile widened when her gaze returned to his. “The paperwork will be completed by the end of the week. Where can I get in touch with you?”

“You can get in touch with me through the number on that card.” He never gave out his private numbers for any reason. His banker and his lawyer were the only ones who knew how to get a hold of him and he liked it that way. Chris glanced at his watch. It was almost one. “Will Friday be acceptable to sign the papers?”

She nodded and he walked out of the office, leaving her holding the business card in awe.

Chapter 5

Jessica lay on Tom’s chest and he lazily ran his hand through her hair. “What do you have going on today?”

“Nothing until later this afternoon. I’ve got a couple dance classes scheduled. You should come watch. There are some talented girls up here.”

“I’ll pass. You know what watching you dance does to me. I’m not sure that’s appropriate for the kids to see.”

She laughed and climbed out of bed, pulling on her jogging shorts and top. “You coming?” she asked and twirled her hair into a clip.

“Not today. I’m still a little jet lagged.”

“It’s almost one in the afternoon.” She kissed him and left the room. “Lazy shit!”

“You wiped me out,” he called after her.

Jessica walked briskly to the beach and trotted down the stairs. She needed her daily routine, jogging on the hard packed sand, losing herself in the music filtering through the tiny speakers in her ears. But it wasn’t enough to lose the dream. The slight chill in the air penetrated to her bones and she shivered.

What if he really did show up?

* * * *

His heart doubled down at the sight of her, jumping in his chest and causing his hands to tremble. Swallowing with a mouth suddenly devoid of saliva, Chris took off his leather coat and threw it on the passenger seat along with his sneakers and socks.

This is it.

He walked to the middle of the beach, right in her jogging path and waited, with his thumbs hooked into his back pockets to keep the shakes in check. The cool salty breeze grazed his cheeks. He stepped forward at the sound of her footfalls.

So intent in her quest, she almost bumped into him and recovered with a stumbling sidestep, mumbling an apology.

“Jess,” he said before she could get back into her stride.

Her body went rigid, her eyes widened and her mouth parted in disbelief. She actually took a few steps back, her cheeks losing all color before suddenly blooming red.

Chris took his glasses off. “We need to talk.”

Jessica closed her mouth.
This isn’t how the dream went.

“No, it isn’t.” Chris answered her thoughts and took a step toward her. “Not at all like the dream.”

She reached up and slowly removed her sunglasses. “You can read my thoughts now?”

“I guess.” He lifted his shoulders slightly before letting them settle back down. “You and Eric changed me.”

“I can see that.” She nodded but now that she was face to face with him, she didn’t know what to do.

“Me neither.” He smiled and looked down at the sand. He brought his eyes back to hers after a moment.

“What?” she whispered shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do either.” He stepped closer. “I just needed to see you again.”

Jessica stopped moving. “I never thought...” she trailed off and looked toward the bluff where she lived. “Ty, Tom and I got married.” She looked back at him.

“I know. I kept tabs on you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m not sure.” He studied the sand again and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Does Tom know I’m alive?” he asked after a few minutes.

“No.”

“But you did.” He looked up at her.

“Yes, when I saw you on TV.” She paused and looked out at the ocean. “I knew when you used the phrase ‘not in a million years’ in that interview.”

Chris looked out at the ocean, nodding, that was precisely why he used that phrase. He wanted her to know. “I changed my name.”

“Yeah, I know. You stole your brother’s identity.”

He nodded feeling the heat bloom in his cheeks. “But after all the crap went down, I got the inheritance and changed my name again. I legally changed it to my father’s name.”

Jessica hitched her breath in. “Chris Ryan?”

“Yeah.” Biting his lip, he lowered his eyes to the sand and inhaled before bringing them back to her. He reached out and wiped a stray hair out of her face and as his finger grazed her cheek, she closed her eyes. “If you knew I was alive, why didn’t you say anything to the police?”

Her eyes opened to his question and she shook her head slowly. “I killed Marian. I killed her to save you.” A tear finally slipped out of the corner of her eye. “I kept quiet for you,” she barely whispered, her breath shaky and full of emotion.

They stared at each other.

“I think I have something you’re going to need.”

Jessica didn’t say a word.

He stepped closer putting his hand on her cheek.

Leaning her face against the weight of it, she closed her eyes. His lips grazed hers and she shot back a few steps.

“No.” She put her hands up in front of her and bolted toward her home.

Chris did not follow. He watched her run, listening to the waves gently slosh on the beach, the hollowness in his chest filling with a devastation he had no words for. The fear in her eyes just before she ran cut him deeper than Frank’s knife had and he took a seat on the sand.

“What the hell do I do now?” He closed his eyes. He wanted to go grab her and force her into the car, disappear with her, wipe the fear from her eyes. He wanted her in his arms again, to feel her skin, her mouth, like in the dream.

He eventually climbed the steps to the road and slipped into his car.

He leaned back, looking in the rearview mirror and stopped breathing.

The image of his dead stepbrother Frank returned his gaping stare. “I’m going to cut her to pieces and there is nothing you can do to stop me this time.” Frank laughed and disappeared.

Chris’s heart hit triple time and he jammed the car in gear, the little Corvette all but flying over the barren mid-day streets of York. He slid into her driveway and without hesitation ran toward the door, bursting into the house and sprinting toward the screams.

He slid to a stop in the bedroom doorway and his mind stalled. Tom struggled against invisible bonds holding him in the chair, his eyes wild and locked on his wife.

Chris followed his gaze to Jessica suspended against the opposite wall, her arms raised above her head, her wrists crossed like they were bound and her toes dangling inches from the floor. A knife, dripping with her blood, hung in the air in front of her slowly waving back and forth; it slashed out again, tearing through her flesh.

Her cry laced with pain and her gaze glued to the mirror next to her. Fear draining all color from her face, leaving her calico eyes wide and stark against the paleness of her skin.

Chris narrowed his eyes at the image.

Frank held the knife and looked in his direction. “Well isn’t this just the perfect trio. My little whore, pretty boy
, and Ty.” The ghost laughed and slashed out at Jessica again.

Another slice ripped through her abdomen and Jessica screamed.

Chris picked up a paperweight on the bureau. “The name’s Chris you son of a bitch!” He pitched it, shattering the mirror and the knife fell to the ground. The invisible bonds holding Jessica to the wall released and he moved swiftly from the doorway, catching her before she hit the floor.

“Who the hell are you?” Tom bellowed.

Chris laid Jessica on the bed and looked up. Recognition flashed in Tom’s eyes.

“Jesus,” he whispered and his face turned beet red, the kind of red that usually accompanied rage. “Get the hell away from my wife!”

“I can fix her.” Chris looked down at the cuts on her arms and stomach and back up at Tom. “I can fix her,” he said again and stepped away. “Please let me.”

“Tom, it hurts,” Jessica said, her breath hissed between her teeth, controlled but still filled with pain. Blood seeped out of the wounds, running down her sides and staining the sheets. She reached for her husband and Tom stepped closer, taking her hand, his eyes bouncing between her and Chris.

“She doesn’t have the power to fix herself anymore,” Chris said, and even he heard the desperation in his voice. “Please.”

Jessica nodded and squeezed Tom’s hand. “Either call 9
-1-1 or let him fix me.”

Tom stared at her and the red in his face dropped a shade or two, Jessica’s plea breaking through the stubborn wall of anger enough for him to make a decision. “Ok
ay, do it.”

Chris sat on the side of the bed and took her other hand. He looked over at Tom for a second before focusing back on her. “This is going to hurt,” he informed her, “At least it did for me.” Putting one hand on her shoulder and the other on the opposite hip, Chris hung his head for a second, gathering strength. Then he leaned over and kissed between the stab wounds on her stomach, feeling the power shift from him back into her where it belonged.

Jessica arched her back and screamed, her body healing under his touch, infusing her with power and she slipped into blackness. Somewhere in the back of her subconscious bright light spilled out of the edges of a door that had lay dormant for five years.

Light danced over her body. “Sweet Jesus,” Tom whispered and looked at Chris in disbelief.

Chris sat up, meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry.” He wiped her blood from his lips and moved away, dropping his gaze to Jessica. She opened her eyes, colors swirled in her irises again like they had five years ago.

Tom watched the light dissipate and the colors come to rest in her eyes. “What the hell happened?” He shot a glare in Chris’s direction.

Chris ran his hands through his hair nervously, looking at the shattered bits of the mirror. He licked his lips and glanced over at them. “I think it was Frank’s ghost.”

Jessica nodded her affirmation.

“How did you find us?” Tom pulled his hand out of Jessica’s grasp and it curled into a fist.

“I’ve known where you were all along.” Chris’s eyes darkened, challenging Tom, but he heard the silent protest from Jessica, dropping his eyes to hers and inhaling. “I gotta get out of here.” Chris backed out of the room, his gait hurried as he shot out the front door.

“Wait,” Jessica called.

He stopped with the driver’s side door open and swung his gaze to her. Blood covered her abdomen, but no trace of where it had come from was visible and his eyes kept jumping between the bloodstains and her eyes as she approached the car.

“Thank you,” Jessica said and laid her hand on his.

The magnetic jolt pulsed through him at the touch of her fingers and Chris pulled his hand away. “It’s my fault. I must have led him here.” He glanced at the house where Tom glared through the window. “I’ve gotta figure out how to kill a ghost,” he whispered in disbelief and looked back at her. “Mirrors,” he said offhandedly and something else clicked in his head. That’s how Eric and Jessica communicated before and how Eric found him
—through mirrors. His eyes went wide. “Jesus, Frank got to you through the mirror. Stay away from mirrors.”

“You gave it back to me, didn’t you?” She felt the warm power inside her again. It was different from before and she couldn’t figure out why.

He nodded. “Now you can fix Emily.”

His words caught her by surprise, swinging the door open on her dream, the bits and pieces she never could remember came barreling through her consciousness. “Oh
, Ty,” she whispered and the tears came.

“If I had waited...”
he trailed off.

“I would have lost Emily.”

“Yes. But now, I’ve brought something worse.” He looked back at the house and slid into the car. “Just stay away from mirrors.”